


Beauty's Bargain

by B_does_the_write_thing



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Christmas in July, rcij
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7735621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_does_the_write_thing/pseuds/B_does_the_write_thing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deals are tricky things.</p><p>- Nominated for Best Rumbelle Christmas in July in the 2017 T.E.A's-</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beauty's Bargain

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (belated) Rumbelle Christmas in July, Mantis! I was so excited to be asked to fill in as replacement Santa, so thank you for your patience as I worked on making your gift as perfect as I could. Your prompt of Secret Princess, Win Your Freedom was so exciting, that I started six or seven other stories, but this one kept coming back to me, so here it is! A little Enchanted Forest AU for you! Love to PrissyGirl for helping me with editing, talking me off the cliff, and just generally being a rockstar.

Deals were tricky things.

Few understood the delicate balancing act magic demanded, and even fewer wanted to understand the price of their heart’s desires. It was there, in the gray, murky, misunderstandings of a human heart, that Rumplestiltskin did his best work.

Perhaps it was his own vanity which had brought him back here all these years later…. to see the ironic twists of fate that always accompanied his little deals… that or curiosity. It was not everyday a deal recaptured his attention, but something about this particular deal, nearly thirty years ago, had stayed with him. He intended to find out why.

This small village was like all the others with its bakery and bookstore, cobbler and butcher. All around him, the little people moved about like ants, beneath him and easily crushed. He ignored most of them, eyes scanning the crowd. He had a general idea of what she should look like, confident when he saw her, he would know.

Across the square, a door opened, and a young woman stepped out into the sunlight. She had her nose buried in a book, paying no attention to the people jumping to move out of her way as she exited the shop. He eyed her curiously from his safe perch beside the square’s fountain. Medium height, right age, delicate complexion- yes, that could be her.

He stood to follow her, when a sudden weight slammed into him. He careened backwards, and would have fallen into the square’s fountain if it hadn’t been for the slight burst of magic he used to keep himself upright. His attacker had less luck. They fell heavily backwards onto the cobbled street.

It was an old man, a small man gone to fat with a barrel chest and thick arms and legs sticking comically in the air. He lay flat on his back, obviously winded, as Rumplestiltskin sneered down at him. He was already lifting a hand to dispatch the creature when a voice from the left stilled his hand.

“Papa!”

The woman from the shop hurried over to the fallen man, ignoring Rumplestiltskin completely as she bent down to check the older man for injuries. “I’m alright, sweetheart,” the man insisted, but he allowed her to help him to sit up.

“Papa, you have to be more careful,” she chided gently. “What happened?”

“Ran into something,” the old fool wheezed, sitting upright and looking around on the ground for something.

Satisfied her father was unhurt, the woman straightened and finally noticed Rumplestiltskin. He was hooded, and had avoided the stare of the rest of the population by people’s sheer refusal to see what they did not wish to see. No one had looked too closely until now. Her apology died on her lips as bright blue eyes met his.

Golden scaled skin, reptilian bulging eyes and crooked, colored teeth, and that unmistakable tell of power stared back at her, and yet, she did not shrink away. A flash of the long dead Queen’s same proud gaze flickered in his memory. “Ah,” he said, grinning at her. “So, it is you.”

“Papa,” she breathed. Rumplestiltskin spared a glance at the figure, who was still making his way to his feet. The old fool had a good natured grin on his face, having not realized the seriousness of the situation. His daughter’s eyes did not leave Rumplestiltskin’s face, so he bared his teeth at her in a mockery of a smile.

The old man was dusting himself off and quickly patted her hand in a reassuring fashion. “There, there, my dear,” he said, “I’m alright.”

He was a dotard, a simpleton. Even now, as he finally looked up to see what had captured his daughter’s attention, he blinked in confusion. However, it did not take long for horror to drain his face of color. He quickly pulled his daughter behind him as he gazed fearfully up into the face of the Dark One.

A few people in the square paused, finally taking notice of the commotion beside the fountain, so he lowered his hood to let them better see. As the sunlight hit his skin, a child screamed, and a few wise souls hurried out of sight, ducking into stores and pulling doors closed behind them.

The old man bowed, as best he could manage, his belly too large for him to even bend in half. The girl looked confused, but quickly followed suit, bowing her head until he could see the glistening of sweat along the back of her neck.

He had made the deal with the mothers. Twas a mother’s lot after all, childbirth and the rearing. He could still smell the blood as the Queen bled out in her grand poster bed, clutching a daughter to her chest when she had promised the kingdom a son. Knowing the dangers of being a princess with no one to care for her, the Queen had called him to her deathbed, and made the deal.

The Queen had died before she even handed over her daughter, but the peasant woman had handed over her son, fresh from her womb, with tears in her eyes and determination stamped on her features. She herself had been weak from hunger. With her son born nearly a month early, she had been smart enough to see her whole family’s only chance of survival was the deal the Dark One offered her in that small birthing room. A daughter for a son, and to sweeten the deal, a child’s weight in gold.

He had spelled both the children, so no one saw the truth, that the son did not grow to look like his father, that the girl did not grow to mirror her mother, but he had left the fathers unaffected. All magic had a price after all. If the fathers could not love a child though it was not their own flesh and blood, so be it.

He had never spared a thought to whether the woman had ever told her husband the truth, but the old man would have to be blind not to see it. The girl before him was as fair as a fairy, with blue eyes like the sea and thick chestnut curls that any lady would envy. She was beauty itself, and even the simple plebeian day dress she worn could not hide her innate grace and nobility.

As if sensing his gaze, she risked a look up at him, and when their eyes met, she held it for a second longer than most. There was no fear in her eyes, just an odd curiosity. He’d have to change that.

“My liege,” her father stuttered. “A thousand apologies for my clumsiness, I was tinkering with my newest invention,” he gestured helplessly at a pile of gears and clockwork sprinkled on the pavement between them. “I did not see you there.”

“So you know me?”

The simpleton nodded, his tufts of white hair bobbing ridiculously around his bald pate. “Forgive me, your grace,” he said helplessly. “I meant no harm.”

“Silence,” he hissed. “I should turn you into a cockroach, and crush you under my heel for your impudence.”

“No!” The girl put herself between them again, coming close enough to touch. “He’s said he’s sorry,” she said defiantly, even as her father exclaimed “Belle, please!”

“Sorry?” Rumplestiltskin growled. “Do you think an apology is enough to save him?”

“Please,” she said, and he had to resist the urge to grin as that look drew across her face. He knew that look. The one mingled with desperation, determination, and hope. It was the look one wore when they were ready to make a deal. “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” he said quickly, moving until he was inches away from her face. “There’s no takebacks, dearie.”

She inhaled shakily, ignoring her father’s groans behind her. Then, with a curt exhale, she nodded. “You have my word.”

“Well, well,” he said with a grin, leaning back on his heels. “You’ll be coming with me then, dearie.”

“Sir, I beg of you-”

“Silence,” he snarled to the old fool. “Your daughter has just traded her life for yours. Do not waste it again.”

The girl- Belle- let out a small moan, and whirled around to embrace her father. “Papa,” she exclaimed, hugging him tightly. “Papa, I love you- I love you so much-”

“Boring!” Rumplestiltskin declared. With a snap of his fingers, ribbons of smoke appeared from the air around them, spinning faster and faster until the town, the fountain, and the simple old fool disappeared.

When it cleared, there was a princess in the Dark Castle.

She wrapped her arms around herself as if to hold herself together. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” she said in disbelief. “I’ll never see him again, and I didn’t even get to say goodbye!”

He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “You made the deal,” he reminded her. “I merely carried it out.”

“But why?” she asked him thickly. “Why bring me here? What do you want from me?”

As he stared down at where she knelt, tears coursing down her cheeks, he wondered briefly what he was to do with this unwitting princess. To be honest, he just enjoyed the idea of a princess in servitute, and had been ever so slightly intrigued by the beauty of her reckless bravery.

To her, he simply shrugged. “I’m in need of help around my estate,” he told her. “I trust you know how to cook and clean?”

She nodded warily, eyes furtively glancing around the room. The Dark Castle tended to take care of itself, but it had its quirks. It had been known to rain inside when the floors needed cleaning, or entire rooms of furniture would disappear when it was time to dust, new pieces appearing seconds later. Let it cause someone else headaches, he thought gleefully.

“Well, then, it’s settled,” he announced. “You’ll serve here to the end of your days while your father, old and decrepit as he is, will be dead in what? Five?”

Her eyes narrowed, and though she flinched as if hit, her voice was steady. “I made my decision out of love,” she told him, tilting her chin regally. “I would do it again.”

“Would you?” he asked, grin spreading over his face. He was half tempted to tell her that simpleton was not her actual father, that her real father sat upon a throne in the east, and the child that should have died a babe would inherit her rightful kingdom. Would she still love the simpleton she called father then?

She nodded in defiance, and his grin grew broader as an idea occurred to him.

“Well, then, dearie,” he chirped, clapping his hands together. “Who am I to stand in the way of love?”

Her face was too expressive, he thought, as hope suffused it, giving it back some life. He’d enjoy toying with her, just for the glee of watching her break over and over again.

“If,” he said, lifting one slender finger, “you can convince me of the truth of your love, make me believe you would do anything, suffer any insult, bear any burden and not harbor resentment for your current situation, you’ll win your freedom.”

She did not react, waiting for the catch. Smart girl, he thought approvingly.

“But?” she prompted.

“But,” he continued, “the moment you complain, the second you fail to complete a task, the deal is off. You will stay here forever, a creature of the castle.”

She did not even hesitate.

“You have yourself a deal,” she said. “Where do I start?”

\--

To his surprise, she did not complain, nor did she falter. The first month passed without incident.

There was still grief in her heart, it shone through when she thought he wasn’t looking. He found himself intrigued by this dogged loyalty. So, he began to haunt her steps, showing up in rooms where she swept, or the kitchens as she cooked to see if he could surprise her into a misstep.

She simply greeted him with a wan smile, or fresh scones.

“Might I know your name?” she asked one day, as she gathered up his golden thread from the coils on the floor around his spinning wheel.

“My name?” he repeated incredulously. “What do you need my name for?”

She nodded. “I simply thought it might be nice...to get to know you since I’ll never know anyone else.”

“Nonsense,” he grumbled darkly. “All you need to know is how I like my tea.”

“I suppose,” she said quietly. “Still...it would be nice.”

The silence stretched between them, with only the faint crackling of the fireplace to break it. He continued his spinning, trying to get back to the natural rhythm which she had so rudely interrupted.

“It’s Rumplestiltskin,” he said after a spell, though he did not know what possessed him to say it. Perhaps it was something he ate.

“I’m sorry?”

“My name,” he growled. “It’s Rumplestiltskin.”

The girl paused in her duties, smiling as she repeated it back to him. “Rumplestiltskin,” she said, and without the usual scorn or fear accompanying it, it didn’t sound so terrible. “That’s rather unique, isn't it?”

“If you don’t like it, don’t use it,” he grumbled, reaching for the spindle to reset the thread.

“Oh, no, I think it suits you,” she said, and returned to her work.

It took him twice as long as usual to untangle his threads.

\--

The second month, he decided to try something a little different.

“There you are, dearie,” he said, sweeping into the great hall. She was in the middle of finishing her breakfast, and looked up from her plate, toast sticking out of her mouth and jam on her fingertips. He paused, half forgetting his plan at the sight. She made quick work of wiping them off on her napkin, removing the toast from her mouth as she hurried to swallow her bite.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she said in greeting, though she did not stand. “What can I do for you this morning?”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Come with me.” He crooked a finger at her, before spinning around to march back out into the hall. He did not wait to see if she would follow him, knowing that she would without complaint, even if it meant leaving half her breakfast on the table.

They arrived at the east wing’s third floor shortly afterwards, and he spun round with childlike anticipation. She was a few feet behind him, hands neatly clasped before her as she looked around them in silent curiosity.

“For you,” he said, bowing low as his hands swept upwards to point at the nearby cracked door. She moved past him to peer inside, her skirts swishing past. He straightened just in time to see her look of confusion, fingers curling around the door jam.

“This is...for me?”

The room had been vacant as had most of the wing. It had been a simple feat for the castle’s magic to provide more suitable quarters for the little princess. He grinned as he took in the great sweeping four poster bed, the large wardrobe and mirror on the far wall, and the large divan besides the great mantle place. It was a room suitable for a queen, which was entirely the point.

Belle had proved more frustratingly noble than he could have initially imagined, and he prided himself on being a great judge of character. No matter how menial her tasks had been, she had done each and every one with no complaint, and excelled in it. The silverware had never been brighter, his wardrobe had never been more pressed, and even the darkest corners were swept and tidy.

So, he had changed his original tactic. She had been raised a peasant girl, and she had taken to that life like a duck to water. But surely, somewhere, deep down, buried at the heart of her, there was a princess dying to get out. Why not fan the ember?

“Don’t you like it?” he asked mischievously, coming to stand over her shoulder.

“I couldn’t accept this,” Belle said, taking a step back directly into him. She grew deathly still, her breath caught in her throat at what he assumed was the memory of what happened when her father had dared touch him.

“Ah, ah, ah! But you must,” he reminded her, curling his fingers around her shoulders and pushing her forward. “Unless you don’t find them to your standards?”

She wavered there in the entrance to these beautiful rooms, eyes tracing the ornate carving in the wood of the four poster and the delicate threads of the tapestries hanging from the wall to keep out the winter chill. She had been sleeping in a bare room with a cot and a threadbare blanket the past month. While she had not grown sick yet, he had little interest in playing nurse to his servant.

Besides, if she grew accustomed to luxury, it would be a matter of time until she broke.

“Thank you,” she said, already reverently touching the quilt on the bed. “This is terribly kind of you.”

He smiled menacingly. “Think nothing of it.”

-

The third month brought the first snow of the season, and no sign of faltering in his guest.

He had taken to trying to annoy her by creating work, which was why his study window was currently open to a blizzard, sleet and slush puddling beneath the window as the north wind blew ice and snow into the room.

“Honestly,” she chided, hurrying into the room to slam the window shut. “You’ll catch your death!”

He did not bother to look up from his currents croll. Simply lifted his hand in the air, wiggled it for effect, and remarked, “Ah, but you’re forgetting, I have magic!”

“Does it come at the cost of common sense?”

His usual acrid comments deserted him. He eyed her sullenly, not sure he liked this new development. If the stifled smile on her face was any indication, she was amused by her little quip.

“I came up to see if you wanted to take your tea up here today?” she asked. Before he could answer, she was diverted by his newest addition to the Dark Castle. “Oh, this is lovely!” she enthused, moving over to closer inspect the suit of armor. Fresh from Camelot, it was the enchanted armor of the ill-fated Sir Gawain.

For all her hard work, she was incessantly curious. She asked questions about everything, read anything he left out, and was fascinated by the smallest treasure.

Still, he rather did enjoy talking about his spoils.

“Just a little gift from a Knight of the Round Table,” he said smugly. “I helped him out of a spot of trouble with some lady’s husband.”

“What’s special about it then?” Belle asked him. Thinking he wasn’t watching, she pulled a silly face at herself in the shiny armor, her usual features distorted into a warped reflection.

“It’s impenetrable,” he said proudly.

“Hmm,” she replied, thoughtfully, stepping back. “Well, that would come in handy for a knight.”

“Come in handy for anyone.”

“Unless one has magic,” she shot back. Even though her back was to him, he could hear the smile in her voice.

“You mentioned tea?” he said sharply, before she could adle him further. “Bring those biscuits I like.”

\--

Was it just his imagination or was she growing bolder?

“Hello there,” she said, looking up from the chair by the fireplace. “Do you need anything?”

“There’s straw in my solar,” he announced sullenly.

She brightened, taking a small piece of ribbon to mark her spot as she closed the book she had been perusing. “Yes, I gathered it today from the stable,” she told him. Her nose was bright pink still. “You mentioned you were running low.”

“I could have gotten it,” he grumbled. “There’s no need for you to go outside in this weather.”

She shrugged. “It was no problem,” she told him, though they both knew she was simply fulfilling her end of the deal. “My cloak was perfectly warm enough.”

She had grown to anticipate his whims, fulfilling his wishes before he even spoke them aloud. There was no resentment in her tone, no disdain on her features and it rankled him to no end to know she was close to winning their little deal.

His eyes fell upon the title of the book she was reading, an old history. She was waiting for him to speak, and he knew at once something she would never expect.

“Come have dinner with me this evening,” he said. “We can discuss your current book.”

Aha! She might anticipate his whims and wishes, but she hadn’t expected that.

His self satisfied smile lasted all the way through the first course, when her argument that the antihero of the tale was inherently good, caused them to have a forty five minute debate over their soup.

Their discussion lasted all the way through dessert, and it was only when he caught her stifling a yawn that he sent her to bed and promised to return to the subject in the morning.

Somehow, and he was not entirely sure how, it became understood they took their meals together where any subject was fair game.

\--

As the winter snows piled up outside, an unholy clatter rang throughout the castle like a dragon’s roar.

Without thinking, he magicked himself to the kitchens, where he found Belle kneeling among a heap of shattered porcelain, frantically scooping them all up into her apron. Her right hand was crimson, the white apron speckled with blood and a grim pinched look upon her features.

“Stop!” he demanded, and clicked his fingers together. The shattered remains of the dishes disappeared, and left Belle kneeling awkwardly on the stones, still holding a small teacup. “What in-”

“Why did you do that?” Belle demanded furiously, struggling to her feet. He saw tears in her eyes, but not one of them dared to fall. “I had it perfectly under control!”

He reached for her still freely bleeding hand. “You’re hurt.”

She ripped it away from him, holding it high overhead to staunch the bleeding. “It was an accident,” she said quickly. “I must have tracked in snow from outside, I slipped!”

He shook his head. “It’s not important,” he said. “Let me see your hand.”

She wavered, but finally held it out. He relieved her of the chipped teacup, placing it on the table beside them. There was a small cut at the base of her thumb. He inspected it carefully to make sure there were no splinters of glass or dirt lodged there.

He prodded the fleshy part of her palm, but though he knew it stung, Belle made no sound of pain. Satisfied, he produced a small handkerchief from his breast pocket, and wrapped it tightly around her hand. When finished, he looked up to find Belle, breathless.

“Be more careful next time. I was fond of that pattern.”

Belle swallowed, then reached out to grasp the lone teacup spared by his magical clean up. “This one’s just chipped a bit,” she pointed out. “Something is better than nothing, right?”

“Go get cleaned up,” he sighed, taking the chipped cup from her. He was gentle not to touch her again, but his hands still burned from the warmth of her skin and her blood was still wet on his fingertips.

She left him in the kitchen, staring down at a blood stained teacup.

\--

On the sixth month of her arrival to the Dark Castle, things grew complicated.

The King of Avonlea died in his sleep, a peaceful end to the monarch’s reign. Rumplestiltskin left the castle in the twilight hours the next day, Belle asleep in her room. He did not tell her.

In the heart of the White Castle, the prince and heir sat on a throne, his round face and tufty hair a spitting image of the father Belle claimed to love with all her heart.

What would Belle do if she learned she had a brother of sorts? Would she resent him? Blame him?

No, she wouldn’t. Even Rumplestiltskin could see this prince, born to the peasants of the land but raised by a king, was a good man.

The prince had circles under his eyes from crying, but whenever someone broke down in their own grief, the prince would stop to console them. He did not eat a bite of any of his meals, but had them sent down to the servant hall for them to enjoy.

He was what every prince should be, but Rumplestiltskin could not help but wonder what Belle would look like upon the throne, and for the first time in his four hundred years, he began to doubt.

\--

“Rumple?”

Belle touched him gently on the shoulder, her hand lingering as she peered down at him in worry. “You missed dinner.”

He jerked his head to the sky outside and saw night had descended while he had been busy at work. Belle moved to kneel down before him, taking the book gently from his lap. “What are you reading?”

He moved to grab it back from her, but she was already reading the title out loud. “ _A Genealogy of Avonlea_?”

She flicked curiously through the pages. He sat there frozen, unable to move a muscle as she flicked through the ancient house of her ancestors. She hummed as she skimmed, thumbing delicately through the pages, as he held his breath. She had been here seven months now, and he had grown used to her. If she saw...if she realized…

“Belle,” he said raspily, and he leaned down to place his hands over hers. She stilled, her pale blue eyes shining in the torchlight as she gazed back up at him. There was an tension between them, and her mouth fell ever so slightly open, as if words failed her.

“Yes?” she finally breathed, eyes searching his face.

“Would you...would you care to see the library?”

The look on her face was answer enough.

\--

When the first hint of summer arrived, he was summoned to Avonlea.

“My liege,” the young King greeted him, bowing low. “You honor us with your presence.”

He did not have time to bother with the niceties. “What do you want?” he demanded crossly. They were alone in the King’s private chambers, but Rumplestiltskin felt oddly ill at ease.

The man sighed, and he pulled out a now familiar book, pushing it across the table to where the Dark One stood. “I think you know,” the monarch said wearily, pushing the sandy hair out of his dark brown eyes.

Something started to wring his insides out as he gazed down into _A Genealogy of Avonlea_. The late Queen and King stared up at him from their wedding portrait. With her blue eyes like the sea, and heart shaped face, the Queen was a petite woman with cupid bow lips and a dimpled chin. Her husband was taller, but still lean, though he also had dark brown hair, his eyes were as bright as emeralds.

“So, you puzzled it out then?” Rumplestiltskin said, returning his gaze to the stocky man before him. The prince was still in his youth, so his barrel chest fit his broad shoulders, and his untamed hair was rugged rather than comical, but in a few years, he would start to fill out, as nature took its inevitable course.

“Not too hard to,” the King said with a sad smile upon his face. “I always felt I didn’t belong here...but Father...Father refused to hear a word about it.”

“He didn’t know,” Rumplestiltskin told him, though he did not know why. It was not like him to spare the feelings of anyone, much less future kings. “It was part of the deal.”

The king nodded. “My real parents...are they…”

“Your father is still alive,” Rumplestiltskin answered.

“I would like to meet him,” the King said quietly, eyes tracing the picture of his adopted parents, the mother he had never known and the mother he never would know. “What of the true heir?”

Something dark and defensive stirred in his gut, but he ignored it as Belle’s face came to mind. “She’s safe,” he said quietly. “Currently a ward of mine. She is not aware of her true parentage.”

The king nodded, taking in this information. “I would marry her,” he said after a moment. “This land by birthright is her’s, and though I cannot give it to her as I wish I might, I could have her share it with me, as Queen by side.”

The Dark One did not reply. It was not his decision to make.

\--

“No!”

“Belle…”

She shook her head. “You want to sell me to the King?”

They had been at this all morning, ever since he had returned from Avonlea.

“I am not selling you,” he repeated tersely. “You have an opportunity to be Queen, do you not understand that?”

“We had a deal!” Belle reminded him. “To win my freedom!”

“You would be free!” he shouted, resisting the urge to throw something. “You would be Queen!”

“What if I don’t want to be?” she demanded, coming closer to him. He shrank back, as she peered into his face. Her hands came up to grasp his, and his hands curled around hers, seeking out the small crescent shaped scar at the base of her thumb.

“Rumple, please,” she said quietly, bending her head forward until her forehead rested against his. “I don’t want to go.”

He lingered there for a moment, breathing in the scent of her sweet as any rose. He had made countless deals in his lifetime, and he had seen all of them go terribly, utterly wrong. He had just never been on the receiving end of the ironies of fate, and now, as he held in his hands the one thing he had never known he could want, he knew what he had to do.

“Belle...there’s something you should know.”

\--

The marriage of King Adam and the Princess Belle was to take place a year to the day he had taken her from everything she had ever known.

She had left the Dark Castle four months ago, with the knowledge of her true history, and everything he had done to keep her from it. He had sent her away under the guidelines of their original deal. He had not said goodbye.

The autumn day was warm, summer lingering in the air as the whole land lifted a glass to celebrate the union of their beloved monarch, and the princess he had rescued from the dreaded Dark One.

Rumplestiltskin sat at his wheel, and spun.

He tried to forget.

\--

The day before the most anticipated wedding in all the land, Rumplestiltskin found himself once again summoned to Avonlea.

“There you are,” Belle said. She sat at her mirror, and smiled at him through the looking glass. He only managed to swallow, looking around the chambers to avoid staring at her. The rustle of her gown, full skirt and golden as the dawn, alerted him that she approached, but he could not make his feet move. “You’re late.”

Instinctively, he turned to argue, but found Belle’s knowing smile tugging the corner of her lips. He smoothed his features, and gave a small shrug. “What can I do for you, Your Royal Highness?”

“As you might know, I’m to be married in the morning,” Belle said lightly. His stomach lurched unpleasantly, but he kept his face stoic as she continued. “I would make a deal with you to prevent that from happening.”

He turned to look at her. She was perfectly serious.

“He’s a good man,” Rumplestiltskin protested. “A King even.”

“Adam is a wonderful man,” Belle agreed, cutting him off neatly. “He’s sacrificing his happiness to pay back a debt he believes he owes, and nothing I can say seems to convince him otherwise.”

He eyed her, not understanding. “You left,” he said.

The smallest flicker of uncertainty crossed her face, her fingers fidgeting with the folds on her gown. “I did,” she said,” because I thought I had a duty to my kingdom.”

“But,” she gestured helplessly around her, at the splendor, pomp, and extravagance of her rooms. “This is not who I am. I may have been born into this life, but it’s a cage.”

“It’s a castle,” he said in a strangled voice. “You’d be Queen.”

“Fine,” Belle said snippily, “but a gilded cage is still a cage.”

“What about your father?”

“He’s overjoyed to learn he has a son in addition to a daughter,” Belle said fondly. “I wouldn’t be leaving him alone. He’s in his element here, why, he’s already got half the inventors in the castle on a new project,” she added with a small laugh.

He didn’t say anything, but continued to watch her. Finally, he realized what was bothering him.

“You aren’t happy here?” he said softly.

She gave a choked laugh. “Oh, Rumple, how could I be? You’re not here.”

Something warm was spreading through his chest, tingling down his arms and legs as if he had touched a shrieking eel.

“Offer me a deal,” Belle repeated, and she reached out softly to take his limp hand in hers. Unbidden, his fingers wrapped tightly around hers, her heartbeat racing faintly against his own.

“No,” he whispered.

Seemingly defeated, her eyes fell shut. A single tear fell, but he quickly wiped it away, cupping her cheek in his palm. He did not know if he said her name or if he simply thought it, but the next minute, her lips were on his.

He wrapped his arms around her, unheeding of everything else in the world but the feel of her in his arms. If he had the ability to think beyond the taste of her, he might have wondered if he had somehow known all along. If it had been something inherent between them that had called him to her, as if it had been meant to be. Deals be damned.

When they broke apart, she was smiling through tears. “I love you,” she told him, as his hands found hers. “I love your intelligence, your humor, your kindness and your bumbling, the way you look when you’re spinning for hours, or the concentration you show when working out a deal. I love the sound of your voice, the warmth of your smile and the color of your eyes.”

“I love you for you,” she said fervently. “If you leave me here to marry Adam, I won’t stop loving you. I’ll love you even despite it, because I know you love me too.”

He searched her face for some sign that she wasn’t in her right mind, scared or magicked out of her senses.

She squeezed his hands, pressing another lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’m certain, Rumple.”

She was too. Through it all, she had never been anything but convincing. She loved him.

“Do you love me?” she prompted, the slightest doubt coloring her voice.

“You have to ask?”

This earned him a small laugh.

“Of course, I love you,” he told her fiercely, pressing a searing kiss to the back of her hand. “I love you,” he said again, repeating the gesture to her other hand. “I love you,” he said fiercely, staring deeply into the clear blue of her eyes.

“Kiss me again,” she whispered, arms curling about his shoulders.

“Gladly.”

In the middle of this kiss, or perhaps the one that followed or the one after that, he lost count, they were rudely interrupted by the door opening up behind him. Rumplestiltskin froze, as Belle pulled quickly away from the kiss, staring in horrified embarrassment at the intruder.

“Papa?”

Rumpelstiltskin groaned.

“Papa,” Belle said, holding back laughter. “I believe you remember Rumpelstiltskin?”

\--

The much anticipated royal wedding was called off, as the would be Queen returned to the Dark Castle. Despite the King’s assurances that it had been her decision, rumors swirled.

Some said she was a captive, traded to the Dark One for the kingdom’s continued safety.

Others claimed it was she who had enchanted the Dark One, now her willing servant.

All nonsense, of course.

They lived happily ever after as partners, talking current events over dinner, telling stories by the firelight and trading kisses every chance they got.

They were together.

They had never been more free.


End file.
